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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by justaperson

Gone.

"Ah Luci, Luci.... Luci," the archangel chuckled. "What are we going to do with you?" The ex-angel sat there, her long raven black hair cascading down her shoulders and back. She smirked her blood red lips and looked away.

"Cast me to hell? You can't do anything without hurting Father Gabriel. You know that I am his favorite."

"Not anymore,"Gabriel smiled. "Father gave me permission to do anything I want to you."

Luci chuckled. "Really now? That doesn't seem like the Father dear I know." 

The archangel grew serious. "You don't anyone up here anymore Lucifer." That wiped the smirk off her little pretty face. The blood seemed to rush out of her face, but then it came back.

"Yes I do, brother dear." This time Gabriel's face lost its blood.

His voice cracked, "Wh-o?"

"Nobody you know dear," Luci smiled and stood up gracefully, her black suit, fitting tightly around her body. She walked closer to her brother. "Now I have a much more appointment right now to go to. Toodles brother dearest!" Luci walked towards the open door, and when reaching it, she turned around, took a step backwards. She fell out of the building with grace, and in the distance you could see large black wings soar down to Earth.

"Lucifer with the dramatic exits," Gabriel spoke out loud and walked to look out the door. Picking up his office's phone he called Father.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Gabriel waited for Father to answer.

"Where did she go this time?" a deep, gruff voice answered.

"I do not know Father. We were talking about what was going to happen to her, and Luci, with her devil eyes, and her blood red lips, stood up and left the room with one of her dramatic exits as usual."

The voice on the other line sighed. "What to do with her? That's the question we need to ask."

"I know father."

"Do you think she fell finally?"

"Let's wait an hour and I think we'll know."

-1 hour later-

"Sir!" a small messenger entered the large room.

"What now?" the large bearded man in the throne talking to an archangel asked.

"Sir, Lucifer, has fallen," the messenger coward in fear of being struck down.

"Oh good," he sighed. "Finally. She is gone."

"I miss her and all of her troubles that went with her," The archangel sighed.

The man smiled and looked around, "She's gone, and I don't want anyone to try to go after her."

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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by justaperson
Gone.
"Ah Luci, Luci.... Luci," the archangel chuckled. "What are we going to do with you?" The ex-angel sat there, her long raven black hair cascading down her shoulders and back. She smirked her blood red lips and looked away.
"Cast me to hell? You can't do anything without hurting Father Gabriel. You know that I am his favorite."
"Not anymore,"Gabriel smiled. "Father gave me permission to do anything I want to you."
Luci chuckled. "Really now? That doesn't seem like the Father dear I know." 
The archangel grew serious. "You don't anyone up here anymore Lucifer." That wiped the smirk off her little pretty face. The blood seemed to rush out of her face, but then it came back.
"Yes I do, brother dear." This time Gabriel's face lost its blood.
His voice cracked, "Wh-o?"
"Nobody you know dear," Luci smiled and stood up gracefully, her black suit, fitting tightly around her body. She walked closer to her brother. "Now I have a much more appointment right now to go to. Toodles brother dearest!" Luci walked towards the open door, and when reaching it, she turned around, took a step backwards. She fell out of the building with grace, and in the distance you could see large black wings soar down to Earth.
"Lucifer with the dramatic exits," Gabriel spoke out loud and walked to look out the door. Picking up his office's phone he called Father.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Gabriel waited for Father to answer.
"Where did she go this time?" a deep, gruff voice answered.
"I do not know Father. We were talking about what was going to happen to her, and Luci, with her devil eyes, and her blood red lips, stood up and left the room with one of her dramatic exits as usual."
The voice on the other line sighed. "What to do with her? That's the question we need to ask."
"I know father."
"Do you think she fell finally?"
"Let's wait an hour and I think we'll know."

-1 hour later-

"Sir!" a small messenger entered the large room.
"What now?" the large bearded man in the throne talking to an archangel asked.
"Sir, Lucifer, has fallen," the messenger coward in fear of being struck down.
"Oh good," he sighed. "Finally. She is gone."
"I miss her and all of her troubles that went with her," The archangel sighed.
The man smiled and looked around, "She's gone, and I don't want anyone to try to go after her."

#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

The Cuts of Laughter

Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
The Cuts of Laughter
Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.
#prosechallenge  #adoption  #rejection  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by joyceanne

Memphis

It’s hard to find forgiveness in Memphis - like drifting snow, seldom seen. Black ice - revenge,  now, that you can count on. Memphis hate can  chill steam off the Mississippi.

Brandy sang in the bar. She played guitar in a country band with a gig at The Agora, a smoky dive downtown, blocks away from Beale Street. Her husky voice carpeted the crowded room down the narrow stairs and turned him upside-down, inside-out. She never smiled on stage. He loved that about her. She crooned songs of lost love, rejection and desperate loneliness.

He downed shot after shot of bourbon, but it hardly phased him, and it didn't blur the memory of his wife in bed with his best friend or soothe his soul over the Order of Protection which kept him away from her and their kids.

One night, after Brandy’s final set, he waited for her. She took him home and he stayed. The bourbon had caught up with him.

She told him her mother was upstairs and that she had one son and hated his father.

“He’s an asshole,” she said.

Sex with Brandy was like plunging into the Mississippi when it was raging in a storm. Wet before they even started. she moaned, “Give it to me, baby. Fuck me hard. Let me be your nasty girl.”

Her voice, thick with desire, aroused him over and over again, and he complied until he couldn't anymore.

When he came to in the morning, he wondered where he was, whose bed was this.

A kid was crying down the hall.

“Hey, want some coffee?” Brandy appeared in the doorway with a mug.

He rolled his body up from the bed. Now, he remembered.

“No thanks. I gotta go.”

“Nobody turns my coffee down, she said playfully. "It's the best in town." For the first time she smiled at him.

“I bet. But your coffee's not what I came for.”

Brandy chuckled at the pun. Then her tone changed to serious, edgy. "The old man worked the night shift. He’ll be home soon. Best be on your way.”

At sunset, he drove across the river and headed north to St. Louis, searching for something other than a one-night stand with a crying kid, a man she hated and a lousy cup of coffee. He'd had enough of those.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by joyceanne
Memphis
It’s hard to find forgiveness in Memphis - like drifting snow, seldom seen. Black ice - revenge,  now, that you can count on. Memphis hate can  chill steam off the Mississippi.

Brandy sang in the bar. She played guitar in a country band with a gig at The Agora, a smoky dive downtown, blocks away from Beale Street. Her husky voice carpeted the crowded room down the narrow stairs and turned him upside-down, inside-out. She never smiled on stage. He loved that about her. She crooned songs of lost love, rejection and desperate loneliness.

He downed shot after shot of bourbon, but it hardly phased him, and it didn't blur the memory of his wife in bed with his best friend or soothe his soul over the Order of Protection which kept him away from her and their kids.

One night, after Brandy’s final set, he waited for her. She took him home and he stayed. The bourbon had caught up with him.

She told him her mother was upstairs and that she had one son and hated his father.

“He’s an asshole,” she said.

Sex with Brandy was like plunging into the Mississippi when it was raging in a storm. Wet before they even started. she moaned, “Give it to me, baby. Fuck me hard. Let me be your nasty girl.”

Her voice, thick with desire, aroused him over and over again, and he complied until he couldn't anymore.

When he came to in the morning, he wondered where he was, whose bed was this.

A kid was crying down the hall.

“Hey, want some coffee?” Brandy appeared in the doorway with a mug.

He rolled his body up from the bed. Now, he remembered.

“No thanks. I gotta go.”

“Nobody turns my coffee down, she said playfully. "It's the best in town." For the first time she smiled at him.

“I bet. But your coffee's not what I came for.”

Brandy chuckled at the pun. Then her tone changed to serious, edgy. "The old man worked the night shift. He’ll be home soon. Best be on your way.”

At sunset, he drove across the river and headed north to St. Louis, searching for something other than a one-night stand with a crying kid, a man she hated and a lousy cup of coffee. He'd had enough of those.
#fiction  #romance  #getlit  #ma 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by CAJohnson

Masks

The sadness is crushing my heart.

   Why did we have to leave? Leave the safe comforts of our home. Our real home. Not this shell of a house with no laughter to fill it. Why did we have to come here? This terrible desert where everyone wears a mask. A mask of lies and deception. But I don't wear a mask, so they see my face. They see my face and cringe, thinking it's a mask. They think I'm trying to play tough, I'm marked dangerous. So I'm alone. I'm alone in an ocean of hollow people who lie. They lie telling everyone I'm righteous, I'm perfect. But the words are hollow. While they are singing praise to they're parents, they snickering with they're friends over some dirty joke. But I don't snicker. Because under those white, sterile masks their face is rotten. From lack of sun. 

   Except for the few. The few who really are those angles, those kind selfless people. But those sheltered people cower from fire. They cower from me because I am dangerous, I don't dance on my tippy toes around people glass feeling. Because I'm not that person who fawns over they're "friends" every whim so they like them. You don't get anywhere without risks. This one backfired. 

   So what now? I'm the strange kid, marked dangerous. They don't see me at school, because I don't go there. I school at home. I'm the strange kid. The kid to avoid. I answer all the questions so I'm branded as a suck up. But I glower at the teacher when I think no one looks so I'm branded as a trouble maker. But what they don't get is the sly comments the teacher says. They only see her candy and age, so she's a sweet old grandma. They think I just talk, but I also listen. I can hear her aggressive tone when she "corrects" me. But I have to say she's wrong. She thinks integrity is connection. 

   But I have news for her, she's wrong. Integrity is having the guts and the moral to bear the treatment. To have the strength to ignore their whispers and snickers behind hands. To tell myself it'll all be over soon, that I can go home. But I can't. Because homes is miles away. Sometimes I think to myself that this story won't have a happy ending. That'll end with people poking me, and tearing out the pages of the stories I write because they don't like them. But she thinks integrity means connection. I don't know if her hearing bad or what but if it is... then I have none. No integrity. I am alone on a isolated island. While all around me people laugh and point as I starve. I am alone, a reject, outcast, useless. Every single day is a battle, and I'm losing the war. But I keep on fighting  and pray they don't see the hurt. I guess I'm wearing a mask too now. 

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by CAJohnson
Masks
The sadness is crushing my heart.
   Why did we have to leave? Leave the safe comforts of our home. Our real home. Not this shell of a house with no laughter to fill it. Why did we have to come here? This terrible desert where everyone wears a mask. A mask of lies and deception. But I don't wear a mask, so they see my face. They see my face and cringe, thinking it's a mask. They think I'm trying to play tough, I'm marked dangerous. So I'm alone. I'm alone in an ocean of hollow people who lie. They lie telling everyone I'm righteous, I'm perfect. But the words are hollow. While they are singing praise to they're parents, they snickering with they're friends over some dirty joke. But I don't snicker. Because under those white, sterile masks their face is rotten. From lack of sun. 
   Except for the few. The few who really are those angles, those kind selfless people. But those sheltered people cower from fire. They cower from me because I am dangerous, I don't dance on my tippy toes around people glass feeling. Because I'm not that person who fawns over they're "friends" every whim so they like them. You don't get anywhere without risks. This one backfired. 
   So what now? I'm the strange kid, marked dangerous. They don't see me at school, because I don't go there. I school at home. I'm the strange kid. The kid to avoid. I answer all the questions so I'm branded as a suck up. But I glower at the teacher when I think no one looks so I'm branded as a trouble maker. But what they don't get is the sly comments the teacher says. They only see her candy and age, so she's a sweet old grandma. They think I just talk, but I also listen. I can hear her aggressive tone when she "corrects" me. But I have to say she's wrong. She thinks integrity is connection. 
   But I have news for her, she's wrong. Integrity is having the guts and the moral to bear the treatment. To have the strength to ignore their whispers and snickers behind hands. To tell myself it'll all be over soon, that I can go home. But I can't. Because homes is miles away. Sometimes I think to myself that this story won't have a happy ending. That'll end with people poking me, and tearing out the pages of the stories I write because they don't like them. But she thinks integrity means connection. I don't know if her hearing bad or what but if it is... then I have none. No integrity. I am alone on a isolated island. While all around me people laugh and point as I starve. I am alone, a reject, outcast, useless. Every single day is a battle, and I'm losing the war. But I keep on fighting  and pray they don't see the hurt. I guess I'm wearing a mask too now. 
#prosechallenge  #culture  #opinion  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by James

Pulsar

       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublime dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.

   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whiskey became his buds.

     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"

He flares like a discharge of molten plasma

      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."

The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like  thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particle of moments was rich with love.

          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.

`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.

                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by James
Pulsar
       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublime dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.
   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whiskey became his buds.
     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"
He flares like a discharge of molten plasma
      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."
The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like  thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particle of moments was rich with love.
          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.
`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.
                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."
#fiction  #education  #science  #opinion  #getlit 
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Written by Sammielee46 in portal Poetry & Free Verse

don't let the bad ones in

when wolves are dressed as sheep

but their teeth are just as sharp

when you're naïve and do not believe that their fur

might be different, but their bones are just as strong

you are stuck between a rock and a lie

getting crushed

by the reality

that they aren't who you thought they were

- the sound that leaves their lips

isn't the soft hum of the herbivore

it's the howl

of the carnivore tearing at your flesh

gnashing at your heart

destroying your spirit.

their grin isn't of happiness,

it's them baring the teeth of betrayal

snout to the sky as they tell

the moon their secrets at night,

carrying the darkness they've hidden

and wrapping you up in it

making you feel warm, loved, cared for,

until the wool starts wearing, white to grey

grey to black, the darkness smothers,

there's no going back

its paws rip and scar

leaving their deceit

permanently;

defiling your purity

sullying your soul

taking your innocence

leaving you half less of a whole.

when you let a bad one in,

you won't always see before your eyes

the fog that they bring with them

as they change into their guise

i guess the jokes on you, or maybe it's on them

one thing i can tell you is

you won't be the same again.

be careful who you trust

those with whom you share your heart

it may be the wolf you've let in

yet i had a sheep tear mine apart…

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Written by Sammielee46 in portal Poetry & Free Verse
don't let the bad ones in
when wolves are dressed as sheep
but their teeth are just as sharp
when you're naïve and do not believe that their fur
might be different, but their bones are just as strong
you are stuck between a rock and a lie
getting crushed
by the reality
that they aren't who you thought they were
- the sound that leaves their lips
isn't the soft hum of the herbivore
it's the howl
of the carnivore tearing at your flesh
gnashing at your heart
destroying your spirit.
their grin isn't of happiness,
it's them baring the teeth of betrayal
snout to the sky as they tell
the moon their secrets at night,
carrying the darkness they've hidden
and wrapping you up in it
making you feel warm, loved, cared for,
until the wool starts wearing, white to grey
grey to black, the darkness smothers,
there's no going back
its paws rip and scar
leaving their deceit
permanently;
defiling your purity
sullying your soul
taking your innocence
leaving you half less of a whole.
when you let a bad one in,
you won't always see before your eyes
the fog that they bring with them
as they change into their guise
i guess the jokes on you, or maybe it's on them
one thing i can tell you is
you won't be the same again.
be careful who you trust
those with whom you share your heart
it may be the wolf you've let in
yet i had a sheep tear mine apart…
#poetry  #amwriting  #Itslit  #getlit  #thingsIfeel 
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Written by Prose in portal Prose

Challenge of the Week #61

Good Afternoon, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week sixty-one of the Prose Challenge of the Week, but before we unveil the winner of last week’s challenge and this week’s newest prompt, we’d like to set you all another challenge. As most of you are aware, each month we set a Challenge of the Month prompt where the winning entries get put in a Prose Original Book with each entrant getting a set share of the lifetime royalties. Last month the prompt was to write about being the most intelligent human being on earth. We have picked the winners, and are almost ready to publish the book. However, we have decided to task you creative bunch with creating the cover. If you think your creative expertise can create a Prose Original Book cover, here’s what you need to do.

1) Create a book cover with copyright-free images, with the following copy on, in this order:

Intelligence.

A Prose Original Book

Designed by @YOURUSERNAME

2) Send it along with your username to info@theprose.com

3) We will look over the entries and the top-10 designs will be featured on our blog, with the top entry being our book cover.

You have one week. Entries close 26th March 12am PST. If you snooze, you lose, but next month's challenge will give you a fresh chance to make a gorgeous cover.

We can’t wait to see the design-candy.

Right, back to the Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you guys have been writing about a new life form, and man, did you deliver. Before we check out who the deserving winner and recipient of $100 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

Now, back to the winner of week sixty.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the lifeform challenge is @DrSemicolon with their piece, Native Martian Anatomy and Physiology.

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

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Written by Prose in portal Prose
Challenge of the Week #61
Good Afternoon, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week sixty-one of the Prose Challenge of the Week, but before we unveil the winner of last week’s challenge and this week’s newest prompt, we’d like to set you all another challenge. As most of you are aware, each month we set a Challenge of the Month prompt where the winning entries get put in a Prose Original Book with each entrant getting a set share of the lifetime royalties. Last month the prompt was to write about being the most intelligent human being on earth. We have picked the winners, and are almost ready to publish the book. However, we have decided to task you creative bunch with creating the cover. If you think your creative expertise can create a Prose Original Book cover, here’s what you need to do.

1) Create a book cover with copyright-free images, with the following copy on, in this order:
Intelligence.
A Prose Original Book
Designed by @YOURUSERNAME
2) Send it along with your username to info@theprose.com
3) We will look over the entries and the top-10 designs will be featured on our blog, with the top entry being our book cover.

You have one week. Entries close 26th March 12am PST. If you snooze, you lose, but next month's challenge will give you a fresh chance to make a gorgeous cover.

We can’t wait to see the design-candy.

Right, back to the Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you guys have been writing about a new life form, and man, did you deliver. Before we check out who the deserving winner and recipient of $100 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:


Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

Now, back to the winner of week sixty.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the lifeform challenge is @DrSemicolon with their piece, Native Martian Anatomy and Physiology.

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.


#prosechallenge  #CotW  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by luvtoread_21

Not Time To Die Yet

I've lived a very simple life. Wake up. Go to my job. Come home. Sleep. Repeat. Simple, yet I detested it. Now, I was never one for the fancy rich life. All I wanted in life was making an impact on others and loving what I do. It was a very small and simple thing to want. But no, life doesn't work that way.

Life makes you work hard for every second that you live. And I hate it.

"Jenna! Open up!" the landlord yelled.

I swung open the door to find the staunch small four foot woman standing with a cart full of cleaning supplies. 

She was the landlord, maid, and everything at my small cozy apartment.

She also hated everything.

I could see it in her eyes that she didn't mean to be so rude. But it was impossible not to hate her.

"Hello, Miss.Martin," I clenched my jaw at the sight of her angry face.

Journal, what would you say if I told you that I won a million dollars that day. If I told you that her angry face morphed into an incredibly beautiful happy one. If I told you life gave me exactly what I needed, and today, I was sitting with a bunch of African souls around a campfire chewing on food that was eaten by kings and queens.

Well, that's definitely not what happened to me.

"You're being kicked out," she said to me without a care. She then marched into my apartment and took my key on the counter.

"Be out by sundown." she slammed the door in my face and left.

Now, this is the fun part. I had lost everything at this point. No shelter. No money. No parents. No love. No dreams. Nothing.

I didn't even have the courage to volunteer at the local food shelter, like I usually did. Heck, I needed to go there to eat some food, not to serve some food.

What I did next, journal, was the stupidest worst thing I had ever done in my life.

I stole a knife from the apartment before I left, just in case I needed it. For special reasons.

I plunged it into my stomach.

If God willed for me to die now, I shall die. If he wants me to live, if he wants to give me a sign that someday, I will have that dream of mine come true. And someday I'll be sitting around the campfire with some African souls, singing songs about happiness, dreams and life.

If he allows it, I will live.

And I did live, Journal. I lived a happy life full of campfires and travelling and singing and eating and dancing and loving.

I lived because God rejected me.

And I understood that even if God didn't reject me, it wouldn't matter.

Because, although rejection hurts, it could lead to something much more. 

 

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by luvtoread_21
Not Time To Die Yet
I've lived a very simple life. Wake up. Go to my job. Come home. Sleep. Repeat. Simple, yet I detested it. Now, I was never one for the fancy rich life. All I wanted in life was making an impact on others and loving what I do. It was a very small and simple thing to want. But no, life doesn't work that way.
Life makes you work hard for every second that you live. And I hate it.

"Jenna! Open up!" the landlord yelled.
I swung open the door to find the staunch small four foot woman standing with a cart full of cleaning supplies. 
She was the landlord, maid, and everything at my small cozy apartment.
She also hated everything.
I could see it in her eyes that she didn't mean to be so rude. But it was impossible not to hate her.
"Hello, Miss.Martin," I clenched my jaw at the sight of her angry face.

Journal, what would you say if I told you that I won a million dollars that day. If I told you that her angry face morphed into an incredibly beautiful happy one. If I told you life gave me exactly what I needed, and today, I was sitting with a bunch of African souls around a campfire chewing on food that was eaten by kings and queens.

Well, that's definitely not what happened to me.
"You're being kicked out," she said to me without a care. She then marched into my apartment and took my key on the counter.
"Be out by sundown." she slammed the door in my face and left.

Now, this is the fun part. I had lost everything at this point. No shelter. No money. No parents. No love. No dreams. Nothing.
I didn't even have the courage to volunteer at the local food shelter, like I usually did. Heck, I needed to go there to eat some food, not to serve some food.
What I did next, journal, was the stupidest worst thing I had ever done in my life.
I stole a knife from the apartment before I left, just in case I needed it. For special reasons.
I plunged it into my stomach.
If God willed for me to die now, I shall die. If he wants me to live, if he wants to give me a sign that someday, I will have that dream of mine come true. And someday I'll be sitting around the campfire with some African souls, singing songs about happiness, dreams and life.
If he allows it, I will live.

And I did live, Journal. I lived a happy life full of campfires and travelling and singing and eating and dancing and loving.
I lived because God rejected me.
And I understood that even if God didn't reject me, it wouldn't matter.
Because, although rejection hurts, it could lead to something much more. 
 
#prosechallenge  #weeklychallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by jnahaspoetry

~Dark Stain~

All I ever knew is rejection in my life.

The complexion of tar imprinting a permanent scar of strife.

A Scarlett letter of a dark color, treated like a stain.

Wanting society to treat me fair, though all I get is pain.

Mama never liked me because I didn’t fit the mold.

I can’t control who I am, and I refuse to quiet my bold.

For it is the shield of armor against a world complacent in hate.

Be it home life, work life or love life – it seems to be my fate.

That no matter how hard I push myself, I hardly get too far.

When everyone around you wants to tell you who you are.

What you’ll never be – places you’ll never see. A caged bird it feels I am.

I’m simply screaming to the world, ‘just let me be! got damn!’

I’m not trying to hurt nobody, though plenty have hurt me.

When I gave my love to a phony tony, my heart was stolen – lock & key.

Showing me no mercy through the journey of his loveless game of chess.

Playing on my emotions in the guise of devotion, he showed me hate the best.

Dressed up as love in its purest and most sincere form, initially…

Eventually placidly yet drastically, I felt myself drowning in toxicity.

It took me three agonizing years before I found my exit route

Wheeling away the remainder of my feelings in an empty brouette.

In my departure, he didn’t neglect to remind me of my flaws

Too dark! Too strong! Too eccentric. For every effect, I was the cause.

Of why he wouldn’t and couldn’t, stand tall, deep in love with me.

This is the story of my life – Oh what a tragedy….

Maybe one day soon I hope, I’ll be more than just a stain

Dark and lovely forever defines me, as I long for fortune and gain!

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by jnahaspoetry
~Dark Stain~
All I ever knew is rejection in my life.
The complexion of tar imprinting a permanent scar of strife.
A Scarlett letter of a dark color, treated like a stain.
Wanting society to treat me fair, though all I get is pain.
Mama never liked me because I didn’t fit the mold.
I can’t control who I am, and I refuse to quiet my bold.
For it is the shield of armor against a world complacent in hate.
Be it home life, work life or love life – it seems to be my fate.
That no matter how hard I push myself, I hardly get too far.
When everyone around you wants to tell you who you are.
What you’ll never be – places you’ll never see. A caged bird it feels I am.
I’m simply screaming to the world, ‘just let me be! got damn!’
I’m not trying to hurt nobody, though plenty have hurt me.
When I gave my love to a phony tony, my heart was stolen – lock & key.
Showing me no mercy through the journey of his loveless game of chess.
Playing on my emotions in the guise of devotion, he showed me hate the best.
Dressed up as love in its purest and most sincere form, initially…
Eventually placidly yet drastically, I felt myself drowning in toxicity.
It took me three agonizing years before I found my exit route
Wheeling away the remainder of my feelings in an empty brouette.
In my departure, he didn’t neglect to remind me of my flaws
Too dark! Too strong! Too eccentric. For every effect, I was the cause.
Of why he wouldn’t and couldn’t, stand tall, deep in love with me.
This is the story of my life – Oh what a tragedy….
Maybe one day soon I hope, I’ll be more than just a stain
Dark and lovely forever defines me, as I long for fortune and gain!

#Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Chapter 7 of Collection of Short Stories
Written by Charlton_Ghosh

Oozelles

Shay Pipkin's Biology Journal: Entry 41; 041/9,461 approximately 8155.000

Location: Orbis Aquae

General Information Chart:

Object Name: Ozzelles

Location: Like humans and similar parasites, they are found throughout the known galaxies (this study has been performed primarily on Orbis Aquae)

Description: Think giant amoeba; Physically they grow to be about 3 foot diameter spheres; Usually puce in color, although other dull grey/green colors are sometimes seen; Its consistency is rather like a blob of jelly left out on the counter; Can change color depending on creatures age and items ingested

Origin: Unkown

Current activities: Digesting things, including themselves if nothing else is available; Only known danger to them: extensive fire and/or heat; Can formulate specific acids to dissolve and/or digest almost anything; Primary source of food is unknown, they seem to thrive off of everything

Special Notes: Can let off noxious gases at will; When burned: emits toxic fumes; Can separate into many, totally independent blobs; The separation/ reproduction of oozelles is accomplished through binary fission; If the environment is stressful for a colony, they will start to merge back together (two oozelles become a single oozelle)They communicate by telepathy; Impervious to almost everything; Generally does not take interest in surrounding environment;

Shay's Observations:

Now there is a sight I never thought I'd see. A  single oozelle splitting in two. A single oozelle is rare, since they are almost always social creatures living in big colonies. It appears that this oozelle has left its colony (I assume the one 16 miles to the north) and seems to be starting one of its own.

I have been watching this creature for 14 days now. I have not yet tried to contact it. Although I am fairly certain it knows I am here watching it. It moved to the other side of the clearing shortly after I made camp in this tree. However, it does seem comfortable enough to split in front of me. I think I will be able to watch a colony grow, right under my nose. This is really quite amazing.

I should make note that these creatures are thoroughly sentient, and have communicated with humans in the past. But I am trying to watch "virgin" oozelles, uncontaminated by the outside world. So far, I have been successful. And the natives (anthró̱pino psária) of Orbis Aquae have been a great help in this regard. They had told me about the colony in the first place and they have also granted me several necessary supplies.

I intend to continue to watch this oozelle for another year if all goes well.

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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Chapter 7 of Collection of Short Stories
Written by Charlton_Ghosh
Oozelles
Shay Pipkin's Biology Journal: Entry 41; 041/9,461 approximately 8155.000
Location: Orbis Aquae


General Information Chart:
Object Name: Ozzelles
Location: Like humans and similar parasites, they are found throughout the known galaxies (this study has been performed primarily on Orbis Aquae)
Description: Think giant amoeba; Physically they grow to be about 3 foot diameter spheres; Usually puce in color, although other dull grey/green colors are sometimes seen; Its consistency is rather like a blob of jelly left out on the counter; Can change color depending on creatures age and items ingested
Origin: Unkown
Current activities: Digesting things, including themselves if nothing else is available; Only known danger to them: extensive fire and/or heat; Can formulate specific acids to dissolve and/or digest almost anything; Primary source of food is unknown, they seem to thrive off of everything
Special Notes: Can let off noxious gases at will; When burned: emits toxic fumes; Can separate into many, totally independent blobs; The separation/ reproduction of oozelles is accomplished through binary fission; If the environment is stressful for a colony, they will start to merge back together (two oozelles become a single oozelle)They communicate by telepathy; Impervious to almost everything; Generally does not take interest in surrounding environment;

Shay's Observations:
Now there is a sight I never thought I'd see. A  single oozelle splitting in two. A single oozelle is rare, since they are almost always social creatures living in big colonies. It appears that this oozelle has left its colony (I assume the one 16 miles to the north) and seems to be starting one of its own.

I have been watching this creature for 14 days now. I have not yet tried to contact it. Although I am fairly certain it knows I am here watching it. It moved to the other side of the clearing shortly after I made camp in this tree. However, it does seem comfortable enough to split in front of me. I think I will be able to watch a colony grow, right under my nose. This is really quite amazing.

I should make note that these creatures are thoroughly sentient, and have communicated with humans in the past. But I am trying to watch "virgin" oozelles, uncontaminated by the outside world. So far, I have been successful. And the natives (anthró̱pino psária) of Orbis Aquae have been a great help in this regard. They had told me about the colony in the first place and they have also granted me several necessary supplies.

I intend to continue to watch this oozelle for another year if all goes well.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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